


Long Shot

by ant5b



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Dad Donald is life, Dorks in Love, Fenton and Donald are awkward dorks, M/M, Minor Injuries, These kids love their uncle so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:45:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ant5b/pseuds/ant5b
Summary: The best laid plans often go awry, especially when you're trying to get your uncle a date.





	1. The Opposite of Catching a Train

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this story my dedication to Hispanic Heritage Month! I already know I'll love Fenton, and I can't wait to see him in the show. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this new fic!

 

_ Now  _

“Delta Chimera to Hot Tamale, come in Hot Tamale. Over.”

“Copy, Delta Chimera, this is Hot Tamale, go ahead. Over.”

“Are you and Green with Envy in position? Over.”

“Affirmative, Delta Chimera. What about you and…my  _ other  _ brother? Over.”

“Dewey and I are-”

“That’s  _ Fortissimo! _ And we’re in position! Let’s get this mission on the road!”

“Do we  _ have _ to call you that?”

“You’re all supposed to say ‘over’. Over.”

“Over.”

“Not  _ you _ , Louie!”

“Hot Tamale, get it together! Green with Envy, do you have eyes on the primary target? Over.”

“Yup, confirmation on Wet Blanket. Over.”

“What are the target’s current activities? Over.”

“Hot Tamale to Delta Chimera. Wet Blanket is making a sandwich. Over.”

“And singing. Over.”

“He’s not half bad. Over.”

“Can we get back on mission,  _ puh-lease _ ? Over.”

“Sorry, Dew — _ Fortissimo _ . What’s your ETA to the secondary target? Over.”

“Fortissimo and I have just infiltrated the lab. ETA 1 minute. Over.”

“Uh, primary target’s on the move. I repeat, Wet Blanket is on the move. Over.”

“Hot Tamale to Delta Chimera, do we engage? Over.”

“This is Fortissimo, I’ve got eyes on Mr. Roboto! Over.”

“Delta Chimera confirming, secondary target in range. Hot Tamale, Green with Envy, put a tail on Wet Blanket, but don’t engage until the package has been delivered to the Castle. Over.”

“I’m sorry, is the ‘Castle’ the mansion?”

“ _ Huey! _ ”

“Right, sorry. Over.”

“Sounds good, Delta Chimera. Over.”

“Good luck, Team Two! Over.”

“I think you’re gonna need it!”

“That’s enough! We’re maintaining radio silence until we reach the rendezvous point. Going dark in 5. Over and out.”

“Roger.”

“Roger that.”

“Roger wilco!”

* * *

_ Then _

It had been exactly three months and a day since Fenton and their Uncle Donald met for the very first time. 

And it had been exactly three months since the four of them began to plan how to set them up. 

While it originally began as a ploy to get their uncle off their backs for a couple nights a week, none of them could ignore how hard it had been for Donald in the months before they moved in with Scrooge. Donald, out at all hours working two jobs, coming home to down a pot of tar-like coffee, make them breakfast, and see them to school before doing it all over again. And even now that they were living in Scrooge’s ridiculously huge, labyrinthine mansion, the furrow in his brow didn’t lighten, and the lines around his eyes didn’t fade. Roof over their heads or no, Donald couldn’t seem to relax when in Scrooge’s vicinity, and their near-constant adventures didn’t help matters. 

Thus their plot became a genuine mission to see Donald happy with someone who cared about him as much as they did. That someone turned out to be Fenton. 

Huey was the most skeptical in the beginning, despite how Fenton stammered through his introduction to Donald and their uncle's natural clumsiness increased tenfold whenever anyone so much as mentioned the scientist’s name. As a result, further investigation was needed to ensure that Fenton would be a good enough match for their Uncle Donald, and Operation: Long Shot was born. (Operation: Get Uncle Donald a Date so He Learns to Relax for the First Time in His Life turned out to be a little too wordy). 

They asked Gyro to boost the signal strength of Webby’s old walkie talkies, which he did without question, to their relief. Gyro tended to alternate between intensely hyperfocused and utterly absent minded, which could be bad when it came to experimenting with lasers, but suited their needs just fine. 

In rotating teams of two they observed Fenton and Donald’s behavior, interacting with and prompting either target when necessary. 

Every other week they would tell Fenton something about Donald — simple facts, his likes and dislikes. Dewey told him that their uncle loved classic rock, and for a week straight that was all Fenton would play at his work station. And whenever Webby brought up what an amazing adventurer Donald was, Fenton would ask for more tales of his exploits, trying and failing to make his requests sound casual. 

Louie would on occasion ask Donald what he thought of Fenton, and each time the answer would change. 

“I guess he’s okay.”

“I can’t imagine working for Scrooge like he does. Been there, done that!”

“He’s pretty nice.”

“Why do you keep asking me? What’re you up to?”

All but the  _ last  _ were answered with carefully constructed nonchalance, which had Donald flushed and blustering for much of the remainder of the day. 

These were all steps in the right direction, but the truth came out, as it usually did, during the high stakes and high stress of their most recent adventure. 

The four of them, plus Donald, Fenton, and Scrooge were on a McDuck Industries private train in Australia, on the way to Scrooge’s hard won gold mine near Kalgoorlie. Glomgold had put a bid in for the deed to the mine and lost, which Scrooge had enjoyed rubbing in his rival’s face in his usual cavalier way. 

They were transporting delicate mining equipment of Fenton’s invention, the inventor himself accompanying them to keep it in working order until they reached the mine. He was sitting in a booth across from Donald, awkwardly alternating between glances at their uncle and the view of the outback blurring past them. 

Donald didn’t even notice Fenton’s attention, Scrooge having fallen asleep on the bench beside him. This led to him repeatedly getting Scrooge’s top hat in his face as his uncle slumped over in his sleep.

The kids were trying to strategize the next stage of Operation: Long Shot a couple booths over, to limited success. Louie was playing games on his phone, his feet propped up on the table in the center of their booth. The other three kids had to routinely shove his feet out of the way as they pored over Huey’s meticulously crafted, multi-step plan for getting their uncle and Fenton together. To say that it wasn’t going well would be an understatement. 

“I don’t understand,” Webby cried out in frustration, slamming her half full cup of hot chocolate on the table, careful not to spill (she’d gone for coffee first, but Donald had caught them out and hid the coffee beans somewhere in the dining car). “How could they both be so behind schedule?”

“Because both Fenton and Uncle Donald turn into nervous wrecks if they’re even within five feet of each other?” Louie responded without looking up from his phone. 

Dewey smacked his feet with the back of his hand. “Not  _ helping _ , Green with Envy.”

“I don’t see you offering suggestions,  _ Fortissimo _ .” 

“ _ We _ know they like each other,” Huey cut in, before a real argument could begin brewing. He presided over his unfurled plans, his hands folded in front of his face like an evil mastermind expounding on his latest scheme. “The trouble is getting  _ them  _ to see that.”

Dewey propped his cheek up with a fist, leaning against the table with a quizzical expression. “Do you have a plan for that?”

“Woodchuck Guidebook rule number 376: always have a plan for everything!” Huey retorted, raising a finger in the air. 

“Are you sure you’re not just making some of these up?” Louie asked, a brow raised skeptically even as he didn’t look away from his game. 

“What’s the plan?” Webby responded eagerly, her gaze bouncing around the strategy map that only she and Huey were capable of deciphering. Huey had written it out entirely in code, to prevent anyone learning about the existence of Operation: Long Shot. 

Some of Huey’s zest faded, and he hummed uncertainly. “Well, at this rate we’ve got two options left. One: we lock them both in a room and refuse to let them out until they admit their feelings.”

“How would they eat?” Louie asked. 

“We’d make the gap under the door wide enough to slide food under!” Webby explained. 

Dewey shook his head. “No, that won’t work. Uncle Donald would just ground us until we’re as old as Uncle Scrooge. We need something more subtle. What else you got?”

“I  _ do  _ have another plan,” Huey hedged, “but it’s more of a Plan Z-type of plan.”

Webby and his brothers looked at him eagerly, even Louie, and Huey sighed. “It involves simulating a dangerous life-or-death situation, which I wouldn’t even  _ know  _ how to go about doing and not have Uncle Donald so mad that he sends us to military school —”

A noise reminiscent of a thunderclap silenced Huey, a concussive, distant sound that rattled the very train car around them. 

A few booths away, Scrooge jerked into wakefulness as his nephew and employee looked around with wide eyes. 

“ _ Scrooge? _ ” Donald prompted pointedly. 

Scrooge turned his scrupulous gaze to the window, just as an indistinguishable dark shape leapt off one of the train cars up ahead, its wild tumble passing by them in a blur. 

Fenton had his face practically pressed up against the glass as the dark blur shot past them. “What-what was  _ that _ ?” he sputtered.

“ _ That _ ,” Scrooge said sourly as he began to force the window open, “was our train operator.”

“Our —he...he  _ jumped _ —?”

Scrooge got the window open, blasting them with harsh, dry wind as they sped through the barren outback. He stuck practically his entire torso out the window, and Donald quickly grabbed the tails of his coat to keep him from falling out altogether. 

“As I thought,” Scrooge began grimly as he climbed back down. “The bridge’s been destroyed.”

“ _ Bridge _ ?” Donald demanded, “What  _ bridge _ ?”

“The bridge we’re meant to  _ cross _ , ya numpty!” Scrooge retorted, throwing his hands in the air. Fenton moved to peer out the open window as Scrooge continued his diatribe. “It goes over a hundred-foot ravine! This must be Glomgold’s doing, that rotten,  _ underhanded… _ ” he trailed off acerbically. “We’ll reach the bridge in a matter of — ”

“Six minutes and 34 seconds,” Fenton stated, as he leaned away from the window, looking faint. 

“We have to get off this train,” Scrooge determined, as Donald gaped. 

“ _ How? _ ” Donald hissed, keeping out of earshot of the kids, “ _ Jump _ ? That engineer probably broke his neck with that stunt!”

Scrooge rolled his eyes. “We slow the train  _ down _ , Donald. We just need to get to the operator’s cab and—”

“I’ll do it,” Fenton said as he climbed out of the booth, his expression steadfast. 

“Now, lad—!” 

“ _ Fenton _ ,” Donald started to say, his features pained, but Fenton cut him off brusquely, already walking backwards toward the doorway leading to the next train car. 

“I’ve got this! Take the kids to the back of the train, and get ready to jump!” Without waiting for them to respond or challenge him again, Fenton turned and shoved the door open, vanishing down the hall of the next car over. 

Donald stared after him for only a moment, before hopping out of the booth with determination in every step. “C’mon, Scrooge, help me with the kids,” he ordered, and it was a testament to the severity of the situation that Scrooge didn’t complain or question him. 

“What’s going on?” Dewey cried before they’d even reached their booth. The kids appeared excited, if concerned by the fierce, if hushed conversation they’d witnessed, as well as Fenton’s mad dash from the train car. 

“Change of plans, kids,” Donald responded quickly, ushering them from their seats. “We’re getting off this train a little early. Just follow each other—there we go, hurry, we’re going all the way to the back of the train.”

The kids jogged single file, stuffing their various belongings into pockets and backpacks. Huey was preoccupied with trying to correctly fold his strategy map and nearly tripped a few times for his efforts.

Scrooge and Donald followed behind them, guiding the kids forward, though Donald couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder at the empty hallway behind them. 

Louie pointed out the window suddenly, “look, we’re slowing down!”

“Atta’ boy, Fenton!” Scrooge cheered, though Donald’s smile was weak. 

They were nearly to the end of the train when Donald passed by their sleeping quarters from the night before and backpedaled. 

“What’re you doing, Donald?” Scrooge demanded, having doubled back when he noticed his nephew had stopped. 

Donald was gathering the comforters off the kids’ beds, and handed off a load to his bewildered uncle. “If you think I’m gonna let my kids jump off a train with no protection, you’re outta your mind!” 

Their arms laden with comforters, they hurried after the kids who had just reached the final door on the train. 

“Where’s Fenton?” Webby asked worriedly. 

“He’ll follow just behind us, lass,” Scrooge assured her, setting down the comforters to open the door. 

The arid landscape rushed past them at a significantly slower clip that before, and Scrooge stepped onto the small balcony, beckoning for the kids to follow him. 

Donald observed the four of them, noting Huey’s obvious nervousness in the way he tightly gripped the straps of his backpack, and how Louie’s folded arms and bored expression poorly disguised his trepidation. 

“Huey, Louie, you’ll go with Uncle Scrooge,” Donald instructed, retrieving two comforters from the pile. He herded the two boys together and wrapped the comforters around them tightly, until their slightly squished faces were barely visible. 

Webby and Dewey giggled and Scrooge snorted, and Donald was relieved for the moment of levity.

Scrooge wrapped his arms around the bundle that was his two great-nephews, and at Donald’s nod jumped off the platform and hit the dirt in a roll. 

Donald gripped the railing of the platform for a few tense seconds as the dust around his uncle and nephews cleared, the three of them becoming smaller and smaller as the train moved away. Finally Scrooge raised his head and lifted his hand in a thumbs-up and Donald could breathe again. 

He turned back to the two remaining children, and then to the gaping, dark and empty doorway behind them. Instincts warring for several seconds, he crouched in front of Webby and Dewey. Whereas their other two siblings hadn’t been able to hide their anxiety, neither could they mask their excitement, and they practically bounced in place.

Placing a hand on each of their shoulders, he asked them earnestly, “Will you two be okay making the jump on your own?”

Dewey beamed. “You know I’ve always dreamed of jumping off a moving train!”

“Besides,” Webby added, her smile utterly genuine, “You’ve got to make sure Fenton’s okay.”

“That’s right,” Donald chuckled. It was unclear which statement he was agreeing with, or if it was both. 

He bundled them both in three comforters, and led them to the edge. He kissed Dewey and Webby both on the forehead.

“Jump when you’re ready,” Donald told them, and with a triumphant war cry, they did just that. 

The pair rolled for a moment, kicking up a cloud of dirt. Donald watched with his heart in his throat until the bundle squirmed and the two ducklings emerged from their protective cocoon with two pairs of thumbs-up. 

In a rush, Donald let out the breath he’d been holding. With his family safe, he could turn his attention back to the train, its imminent fall, and the duck who had yet to reappear. 

The hallway before him was still distressingly empty, and he had to combat the large part of him that wanted to rush from car to car and drag out the scientist who had been so ready to put himself in harm’s way for them. 

He felt the train behind to turn, rounding some sort of bend, and Donald was allowed a glimpse of the ravine Scrooge had spoken of, and the still-smoking remains of the bridge meant to cross it. They couldn’t be more than a minute away now, and Donald belatedly recognized his sweating palms and that what he had begun muttering under his breath wasn’t a prayer, but Fenton’s name over and over. 

His hands clenched around the railing, Donald kept trying to look around the long line of train cars in a futile attempt to judge the distance to the bridge, when a crash from within the train car startled him. 

Fenton had tripped over something in the hall, and he forced himself back to his feet with great heaving breaths. 

“ _ Donald! _ ” he cried, eyes wide and panicked as he stumbled over the doorway. “What’re you still  _ doing  _ here—”

Donald didn’t bother answering, grabbing Fenton by the wrist and yanking him forward. In the same motion he leapt backward off the platform, wrapping his arms around Fenton as they fell. 

They hit the ground hard, dirt and rocks scratching Donald’s face and digging into his back, and they rolled for several moments. They remained in their embrace even as the rumble of the train faded, and ended in an almighty  _ CRASH _ as it pitched off the ravine not twenty feet away from them. 

Fenton trembled fiercely in Donald’s arms in the wake of the crash and despite his own frayed nerves, Donald rubbed his back comfortingly. 

“Are you okay?” Donald asked, peering down at what he could see of the other duck’s face, buried against his chest as it was. 

After a brief pause, Fenton nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice muffled. 

Donald let his head fall back against the dirt, breathing deeply as he took in the mauve and fiery orange of the sky above him, the sun setting in the distance. However, he didn’t have much time to ponder this spectacle as the sound of his nephew’s voices drove any other thought from his head. 

Fenton let him go without prompting, helping Donald into a seated position alongside him. They didn’t have time to so much as exchange a smile before Donald was tackled back to the ground under the weight of his nephews and their jubilant cry of, “ _ Uncle Donald!” _

Donald laughed amid winces of pain, holding the three of them close. “Boys! I’m so glad to— _ ow _ , ouch, be careful, your uncle’s a giant bruise right now.” 

His nephews backed up, Huey and Dewey pulling on an arm each to get him off the ground. Donald glanced over to see Webby smiling and holding the hand of a still-shaken Fenton, and off to the side was Scrooge, appearing no worse for wear, with his sat phone pressed to the side of his head.

“Are you three okay?” Donald asked his nephews seriously, scrutinizing them one at a time. They assured him of their well being, and when he couldn’t find anything wrong with them other than a liberal coating of orange dust and dirt, he had to agree. 

“It’ll take a lot more than jumping off a moving train to hurt us!” Dewey boasted, and Donald groaned. 

“Let’s not put that to the test, okay?”

Huey pulled away to ask, “Uncle Donald, how about I get the camp set up? Uncle Scrooge is calling for help, so we should only be here a couple hours.”

“Good idea, Huey,” Donald praised. “Have Webby and your brothers help you.”

The other two boys made exaggerated sounds of disappointment, but were unhesitating in rushing after Huey and Webby. 

In the sudden silence, Donald turned back to Fenton. The scientist’s eyes were still a little too wide, his posture too stiff to be natural, and yet he still managed a smile when Donald met his gaze. 

He made a startled sound when Donald pulled him into another hug, wrapping his arms tightly around Fenton’s shoulders. 

“Donald—?”

“Thank you,” Donald murmured, “for saving my boys and Webby.”

Fenton returned the embrace with slightly tremulous hands. 

“N-no problem,” he croaked. 

Someone cleared their throat above them, and Donald pulled away from Fenton to tiredly acknowledge his uncle. But Scrooge surprised him by taking a knee before them, clasping both Donald and Fenton on the shoulder. 

“Fenton, you did an admirable job,” Scrooge said cheerfully to the dumbfounded scientist. “You too, Donald. I imagine you’re the one who saved his tail feathers in the end?” His grip on their shoulders tightened ever so slightly, though his tone never wavered. “But how about we don’t cut it so close next time,  _ hm ?” _

“No complaints here,” Donald agreed with a tired smile. 

Scrooge nodded sharply. “Good.” He stood back up, cracking his back as he did so. “Launchpad should be here soon, so don’t go getting too comfortable.”

He ambled off, after the kids most likely, and Fenton breathed out shakily. 

“Scrooge McDuck just told me I did a good job,” he whispered incredulously. 

“He said you did an  _ admirable  _ job,” Donald chuckled, “and he’s not wrong.”

But a compliment from Scrooge McDuck was apparently the final straw for Fenton, as Donald glanced over at him in time to watch the scientist fall back in dead faint, a puff of orange dirt blossoming around him. 


	2. Poolside Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation: Long Shot comes to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A third of the way through this chapter I realized I'd need to add another to really get where I wanted to go.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! This chapter fought me for a while haha

 

_McDuck Labs_

_1750 hours_

 

Gyro was busy banging his head against his desk when the secure elevator to the lab opened, and so only Fenton noticed Webby and Dewey’s attempt at a stealthy entry.

Fenton hid a smile and pretended to busy himself with the items on his desk, updating his online calendar with what he hoped was a dignified scientist’s expression. He heard the kids whispering somewhere behind him for a few moments, before silence fell in the lab save for the steady _thump_ of Gyro’s head hitting his desk.

Two pairs of small hands clamped onto either of Fenton’s arms, and he startled a bit as a he was interrupted in the middle of scheduling his next grocery run (as his increasingly packed and hectic work days now necessitated). He looked down to see Dewey and Webby’s determined faces.

“Uh, what can I do for—?”

“Mr. Crackshell-Cabrera, we need you to come with us,” Webby said seriously.

“Yeah,” Dewey started to say, “it’s a matter of utmost impor—is he _okay_?”

The kids seemed to have finally noticed Gyro’s little breakdown, and they watched the distraught scientist with wide, concerned eyes.

Fenton just chuckled. “Oh, he’s fine. We’ve just been having some setbacks with Project Bla—”

“ _Ahem.”_

Gyro, apparently not as out of it as Fenton had thought, sent him a blistering glare, though its effect was diminished by the fact that his upper body was practically sprawled across his desk.

“Do you want something for your head?” Fenton offered sympathetically.

Gyro grimaced. “No,” he grunted, “Lil’ Bulb’s getting it.”

From an empty workstation a few feet away, the little robot hefted a pill bottle and pelted it at Gyro. It bounced off his head and onto the floor.

 _“Thank you_ , Lil’ Bulb.”

Fenton looked back at the kids. “Now, what were you guys saying? You want me to come with you?”

“Oh, uh, yes!” Dewey quickly agreed.

“We’re throwing a little—a little party at the mansion,” Webby explained, stammering slightly. “You know, just a little ‘Yay We Survived the Latest Adventure’ party.”

“And this would be your first one!” Dewey added.

“A truly momentous occasion!” Webby announced grandly.

Fenton chuckled at the sight of their eager smiling faces. “You kids didn’t have to go out of your way. How’d you even get here? I thought Scrooge was out of town.”

Webby replied, deepening her voice,“We have contacts all over the city that get us where we need to go,” at the same time Dewey said, “Launchpad gave us a lift.”

Fenton laughed again as Webby shot Dewey an exasperated look.

“So will you come?” Webby asked earnestly.

“Well I don’t know—”

“ _Uncle Donald_ will be there,” Dewey added in a singsong voice.

Fenton flushed to the roots of his hair, his darker feathers only barely masking his embarrassment. “Oh, um, well…”

 _“Oooh_ ,” Gyro commented with a sly grin, bent halfway to the floor in order to pick up the pill bottle Lil’ Bulb had thrown.

Attempting to shake off his sudden anxiety, Fenton made to respond casually. “ _Sure_!” his voice cracked like a teenager’s, and they all snickered. He cleared his throat and pushed onward. “I’d be happy to come to your party. Just let me finish up some things here, and I can give you both a ride back.”

Since Gyro was out of commission, downing two tablets of acetaminophen but leaving his head on his desk with an inarticulate grumble, Fenton set to straightening out the lab to the best of his ability. He turned off a bunsen burner they’d left on, tidied up his workstation, and turned on the kettle, placing Gyro’s favorite “Trust Me, I’m a Scientist” mug beside it. He could only hope that Gyro would forgo his usual six p.m. coffee in exchange for herbal tea, given the state of his nerves.

While they waited, Webby and Dewey appeared to have engaged Lil’ Bulb in a thumb war. Dewey lost swiftly, but Lil’ Bulb was having a little more trouble with Webby. As Fenton pulled on his jacket he watched Webby leave victoriously, as Lil’ Bulb fell to his knees and shook his fists at her.

“Gyro,” Fenton called as he began ushering the kids to the elevator and away from the little robot that was certainly plotting revenge. “I’m heading out! Please try to eat something and get some rest!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gyro muttered, waving absently at them without lifting his head.

Fenton was steadily gaining confidence as they stepped onto the elevator. The likelihood of making it through the night without horribly embarrassing himself couldn’t be that low, and besides, it was a party hosted by _kids_. How stressful could it be?

But the elevator had scarcely begun to rise when Dewey began to look him over with a critical eye.

“Is that really what you’re wearing?” he asked.

And it was with a dawning sense of helplessness and dread that Fenton watched as Webby reached into her backpack and pulled out four different ties as well as a freshly ironed shirt.

 

* * *

 

Donald was experiencing the distinct sensation of being watched.

The halls of McDuck Manor might be so grand as to make visitors feel insignificant, but it was mostly safe if you stayed away from the garage. And since Donald was _there_ and not, say, traipsing through a perilous jungle or slacking off at work, nor flagrantly disobeying any of Mrs. Beakley’s rules, he was able to disregard the feeling with amusement.

No matter how on edge he might still be after their near-catastrophe on the train six days ago, a decade of raising three boys had left him with nerves so shot that very little surprised him anymore. Being followed around in secret by two of his boys fell into this category. And besides, Donald was too tired after another trying day at work to be suspicious. Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby had been behaving rather oddly the last few weeks, but nothing particularly dastardly had come of it yet, so he was fine with letting matters lie.

Donald’s dull accounting job posed such a juxtaposition with the extreme, high-flying nature of Scrooge’s adventures that he constantly felt wrung out by the dichotomy, and he had learned early on to take what respite he could find. The strange behavior of his nephews notwithstanding, Donald was going to take a _break_.

The mansion was quiet for once, free of the sound of pounding feet and the all too familiar crash of the kids breaking some ridiculously expensive or cursed object. Scrooge, the master of mischief himself, was back in Kalgoorlie inspecting his gold mine on his own. Beakley had left a note on the fridge letting Donald know she’d be in the gym for the next few hours, and warning him not to touch her baked ziti lest he wish to suffer a horrible and dismembering fate.

Unperturbed, Donald made a BLT for himself, singing the Pink Flamingo song he’d had stuck in his head all day. He heard the patter of webbed feet moving away from the doorway whenever he turned around and he briefly considered, and promptly dismissed, demanding what Huey and Louie were up to. Webby had dragged Dewey to the library not long ago, and the two remaining triplets were acting odd but not acting out, so Donald would take advantage.

His sandwich complete, Donald carried it with him to one of the TV rooms and made himself comfortable. Carefully placing the plate on his lap, he switched on the television and proceeded to flip absently through channels. He’d begun eating one half of his sandwich when he heard footsteps behind him. Donald expected them to quickly fade away as had become the norm that day, but instead Louie appeared over the back of the couch.

“Hey, Uncle Donald,” he greeted casually, flopping down onto the couch cushions. Donald’s latent suspicion began to take root, even as he continued aimlessly flicking through channels. “Hi, Louie. What are you and Huey—?”

“Wait wait, go back!” Louie interrupted, pointing earnestly at the screen.

Donald looked back at the television and returned to the previous channel, currently airing that show about furniture that Louie seemed to love so much.

“Oh, this is a good episode,” Louie commented as he reached over and took the other half of Donald’s sandwich. “Randy buys two-by-fours that are cedar instead of pine and they both end up getting lost at the Henhouse Depot for like half the episode.”

“Oh, yeah?” Donald replied, with a smirk at the casual food theft. He resolved to just get a snack later, and finished the remainder of his sandwich as the episode’s intro theme started up.

The episode was coming to a close, and Donald found himself becoming bizarrely invested, when Louie was distracted by the buzz of his cellphone. He only glanced down at it for a moment, before rising from the couch with a stretch that seemed a little _too_ casual.

“Hey, Uncle Donald, can you help me with something?” he asked.

Donald gestured at the television. “What about the episode?” he said, hoping to forestall whatever mischief was apparently coming to fruition.

“I think I left something on the houseboat,” Louie replied with a shrug, and it was all Donald could do to withhold a groan.

He’d told the boys that under no circumstances were they to go inside the houseboat without him, though he’d ascertained that the deck was safe for them. Donald was certain that there was still interior damage from the fire, and Huey, Dewey, and Louie all knew that he needed to be with them if they wanted to go below deck.

“Do you need to get it _now_?” Donald hedged, but Louie nodded firmly.

“Yup. But don’t worry, I’ve set it to record all episodes of _Ottoman Empire_ , we won’t miss a thing.”

Donald rose with a sigh. “ _Great_.”

He ruffled Louie’s hair on the way out the door, and his nephew batted his hand away with a laugh rather than the typical groan he had reserved for his uncle’s antics. In fact, as they made their way down the hall, Donald noticed Louie begin to behave even more oddly. He appeared to be making an effort to keep a more apathetic expression in place. The corners his beak would turn up, like he was fighting a smile, and Donald was becoming increasingly concerned.

Donald stopped Louie in front of the door that would lead out to the pool. “Whatever you boys and Webby have planned, can you call it off, Louie?” he requested plainly. “I’m really not in the mood today.”

Louie smiled with a look that was knowing, but not mischievous. “Don’t worry, Uncle Donald, this is a good surprise, I promise.”

Donald didn’t try to stifle his groan this time, and Louie laughed as he opened the door.

He didn’t know what to expect when they stepped out onto the patio—confetti cannons, water balloon fight, and any other manner of contraband that Beakley would flay him for if the kids didn’t clean it up in time. Instead, the evening was still, the patio empty, the back of his boat illuminated in gold and pink light as the sun set in the distance.

Donald looked askance at Louie, feeling bizarrely wrongfooted. “What’re you up to?”

Louie rolled his eyes as he started walking around the edge of the pool to get to the front of the houseboat. “We’re not _always_ up so something,” he retorted, but as they rounded the corner he began to slow. “I mean, this time we are, but it’s not like it’s a regular thing.”

Before Donald could ask what Louie meant by that, he looked up to see Webby and Dewey herding Fenton through a doorway on the opposite side of the house, heading toward the boat as well. Donald froze in his tracks, and Fenton noticed him within moments. The scientist stopped wringing his hands long enough to awkwardly wave hello, and Donald became aware of a few things.

Fenton’s slightly harried appearance didn’t extend to his outfit; his shirt was clearly freshly pressed, and his blue tie was straight. When Donald normally saw Fenton fresh from the lab his shirt would usually be wrinkled and his tie askew, not taking well to being slept in when he and Gyro went on their 36-hour science binges. Even his hair, which Donald had only ever seen perpetually mussed, was neatly coiffed. To say Fenton looked handsome would be an understatement. And to say Donald looked terrible would be an _overstatement_.

“ _Louie_ ,” he hissed, fighting the sinking feeling that he knew what the kids had been planning all along.

His youngest nephew shrugged affably, reaching over to straighten Donald’s shirt. “Sorry, Uncle Donald, but if we’d asked you to get changed, you would’ve become _way_ too suspicious.”

When Donald still wouldn’t move forward, Louie got behind him and started to push.

“ _Louie_ , no, _wait_ —!”

“You’ll be _fine_!”

They were getting closer to the gangplank and to Fenton, and Donald felt his heart race up into his throat.

“Louie, I _can’t_!”

Donald dug his heels in, and Louie collided into his back. He heard his nephew grumbling behind him as he stood paralyzed, before he heard a very familiar sigh.

“Uncle Donald, we know you like him,” Louie’s voice rose from behind him, and Donald stiffened even more. “And he likes you! So why don’t you give it a chance?”

Donald didn’t speak for several seconds. He looked over at the deck of the houseboat, where he could see Huey placing small, battery powered candles inside of two red glass centerpieces, atop a circular table they had draped with a tablecloth.

“You boys did all of this...for me?” he finally murmured, looking back over his shoulder at Louie.

Louie shrugged again, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “Well, it was mostly so you’d be too busy dating Fenton to worry about us.”

Donald blushed beneath his feathers, but still turned around to pull a resistant Louie into a hug. “Aw, kiddo. I’ll never be too busy to worry about you.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Louie muttered when Donald released him, before nudging his uncle forward. “Now hurry up! Huey’s dinner’s gonna get cold!”

With less trepidation that before, Donald made to join the group that had just arrived at the gangplank, Louie following just a step behind.

“Hi, Donald,” Fenton greeted him with a nervous smile.

Donald felt himself flushing again, though he maintained his smile as he replied, “Hi, Fenton.” His gaze lowered until it landed on the ducklings on either side of the scientist. “Some library visit, huh?” he inquired, deadpan.

Both Dewey and Webby beamed innocently, the latter’s smile still a little awkward but clearly improving after spending time with his boys. Fenton coughed awkwardly above them.

“Donald, I, um, I didn’t know that this is what they were planning,” Fenton hurried to explain, “I didn’t know it’d be a...a…”

“A date,” Donald finished for him, with significantly more calm than he felt. Fenton smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away. Donald took a deep breath, steeling himself as his heart hammered in his chest.

“Well, I’d hate to put all the kids’ hard work to waste,” he remarked casually, though he couldn’t bring himself to look higher than Fenton’s beak. However, this let Donald see the way Fenton’s beak curled into a beatific smile, which he couldn’t help but return.

“ _Okay_ , _okay_ ,” Dewey butted in, stepping in between the two of them. “This date will never get started if you two just stare at each other!”

Webby and Louie appeared at Fenton and Donald’s back respectively, pushing them toward the gangplank.

“We can take a hint!” Donald groused, waving them off. He let Fenton go ahead of him, the scientist muffling a snicker behind his hand.

Louie and Webby followed behind as Dewey lead them on board, where Huey was waiting for them with a cloth-draped green glass bottle. Upon reaching the small circular table they’d set up, Webby hurried to pull out Fenton’s chair for him, while Louie did the same for Donald.

“Now, gentlemen,” Dewey began grandly, “your dinner this evening was prepared by none other than Chef Huey, and features macaroni and cheese with a side of tofu dinosaurs.”

Webby and Louie each presented them with a silver cloche, likely raided from Beakley’s pantry, which they removed in sync to reveal the meal Dewey had just described. Donald was pleased to see Huey’s cooking skills had improved; the tofu dinosaurs were only slightly scorched.

Before moving away, Webby whispered loudly to Donald and Fenton, “I also put a bag of barbeque chips under the table, if you want a snack later.”

Huey came to the table with the green bottle, which had Donald’s eyes narrowing.

“What is that?”

“Apple cider,” Huey replied cheerily, expertly pouring it into the two champagne flutes besides their plates. Once they were nearly full he placed the bottle in the ice bucket beside their table.

After serving their food Louie had gone over to the window sill where one of their phones was plugged into a set of speakers. In a few moments he had soft piano music playing, and Donald was reminded all at once that Fenton was sitting across from him, glowing in the battery-powered candlelight.

Their tasks completed, the kids all lined up beside their table with their arms behind their backs.

“Well, gentlemen, this is where we say good night,” Dewey said with a bow, still fully immersed in his sophisticated persona.

“I…” Donald began, but didn’t know what to say. What _could_ he say, seeing what lengths they had gone to help him, to make him _happy_? “Thank you, kids. This is…” he glanced over at Fenton, who was watching them with a teary smile. “This is amazing.”

The four of them beamed, standing taller, and began to file down the gangplank.

“I hope you enjoy dinner!” Huey beamed.

“Don’t forget the chips!” Webby hissed as she followed just behind him.

Before they knew it, all four of the kids had disappeared back inside the mansion, leaving Donald and Fenton alone on the deck as music drifted around them.

  



	3. Ready...Set...DATE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the final chapter of this fic! It's all fluff!

Donald picked anxiously at the tablecloth in the ensuing silence, broken up only by the creaking of the houseboat and the soft music Louie had chosen.

His stomach was tying itself in knots, and he feared what might come out of his mouth if he opened his beak because now that he was here with Fenton he feared ruining everything. It’d been years since he last went on a date, what if he did something  _ wrong- _

“Well, we’d better eat this before it gets cold!” 

He startled out of his downward spiral by Fenton’s bright, if overly loud, exclamation. He looked up to see the other duck blushing faintly, but smiling at him.  Donald let out a breath with a bit of a laugh, picking up his fork and stabbing at a tofu stegosaurus. 

They ate in relative silence for a long moment, with intermittent glances at each other. Donald would’ve thought Fenton was perfectly at ease, what with the speed at which he devoured his macaroni and cheese and started on his tofu dinosaurs, if not for the way he was tapping on the table with his free hand, like he was following along to a beat inside his head. It was a nervous habit of Fenton’s he hadn’t realized he’d picked up on. 

“Sorry, it’s uh... it’s been a while since I did this,” Donald admitted quietly, knowing that the enduring silence was mostly his fault. 

Fenton’s snicker was lighthearted, easing the anxiety that had seized Donald’s heart from the moment the date began. 

“What, eat tofu dinosaurs?” He asked jokingly, lifting up the pterodactyl he had on the end of his fork. Donald snorted into his glass of apple cider. 

“I wish I could say I make a habit of eating any healthier than this,” Fenton went on sadly with a put-upon expression, “but a lab is no place for gourmet meals. It’s strictly noodles and Hot Pockets for us.”

Donald made a show of shuddering, hoping to get another delighted laugh out of Fenton. He succeeded, and couldn’t help but smile. 

“How’re you two still alive?” Donald wondered aloud, and his heart to skipped a beat at Fenton’s smirk. 

“Lots of coffee. And spite, in Gyro’s case.”

Donald rolled his eyes. “I could make you dinner!” He sawed a deformed tyrannosaur in half as his protective instincts took the reigns. “Store it in some Quackerware, then microwave it. You can actually get some  _ protein _ that way.”

He paused, flushing as he became aware of the rant he’d started with little effort. Donald looked up from his plate to see Fenton at least equally red, but looking pleased. 

“I’d like that,” Fenton replied before Donald could find some way to backtrack, smiling down at his dinner. “Not the lecturing so much, but you  _ are _ an amazing cook. I’d finally gain back all the weight my mom says I’m losing!”

Fenton’s smile became rueful. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Donald nearly choked on his macaroni and cheese in his hurry to reassure him. “No, no, it’s fine!” And if they were being painfully honest with each other… “I...I like hearing you talk.”

They were a pair of idiots the both of them, what with the way they both looked away and blushed, but Donald was determined not to allow them to lapse into the same awkward silence once more. 

He cleared his throat perhaps a little too obviously, but of course Fenton was too kind to point it out. 

“What’s your mom like, anyway? You mention her a lot.”

Fenton smiled fondly, pushing his last tofu dinosaur around on his plate. “Aw, she’s great. It was just me and her growing up, and she worked a lot. My mom had it tough for a long time, barely knew any English when she got here, but she went to school and worked hard and ended up as a mechanical engineer at DASA!”

Donald blinked. “Wow, really? Huey’s been telling me about some new satellite of theirs, how it’s supposed to leave the Milky Way or something. Is your mom still there?”

The other duck’s smile faltered, and Donald immediately felt like kicking himself. “No, ah, her MS got worse and she had to retire. She just tinkers from home now.” Fenton distractedly swept a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly. “I’ve considered moving back in, y’know, just to help out around the house, but she won’t hear a word of it.” His tense expression dissolved with a chuckle, “‘I’ll only be an invalid if you keep treating me like one,’ she’ll tell me.”

Donald laughed too. “She sounds pretty great.” Reminded him of his own mother, even. 

Fenton grinned. “I think she’d like to meet you.”

Before Donald could begin to feel touched, Fenton went on to say, “You’re fussy, she’d love making fun of you.”

Donald sputtered indignantly. “ _ Fussy _ ? I’m not  _ fussy _ , I’m—”

“You are,” Fenton interrupted with a mischievous smile, and before Donald could put forth another protest, he added, “but it’s cute.”

Donald shut his beak with a clack, not quite having an answer to that. Flattered and embarrassed in equal measure, he turned back to his cooling macaroni and cheese. 

The sun had only just vanished under the horizon, painting the sky in deepening shades of blue and brilliant orange, when Fenton spoke again. 

“I lied.”

His expression had become almost unreasonably guilty, brows pinched and gaze downcast. He had his hands tightly clasped atop the table. 

Donald froze with his fork halfway to his beak. “About thinking I’m cute?”

Fenton’s severe expression softened with a laugh, though the guilt remained. “No, not that. I lied about...about not knowing that this would be a date. I figured it out not long after Webby and Dewey showed up at the lab.”

“Okay,” Donald replied slowly, “then why—”

“I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while!” Fenton cut him off rapidly, releasing his clasped hands to gesture at Donald emphatically. “But I never knew how to ask, or if you’d even  _ want _ to date me, I mean, I know I haven’t got much going for me besides my dashing good looks!”

The last was said on a laugh that was only a little self-deprecating, and Fenton glanced away. 

There was a beat of silence before Donald reached across the table, laying his hand over Fenton’s. He smiled when the other duck gawked at him. 

“Fenton, you saved my  _ kids _ just last week. Believe me, I like you for more than your good looks.” 

“Oh,” Fenton replied, looking spellbound. He turned his hand over so he could hold Donald’s. “That’s...okay.”

“‘That’s okay’?” Donald repeated, incredulous and laughing. 

Fenton grinned. “What am I  _ supposed _ to say!”

They smiled at each other like idiots over the table, the flickering, crimson battery powered lights casting their features in a warm glow. Their hands remained tightly clasped atop the table, and Donald felt at peace for the first time in a long while.

And of course, par the usual Donald Duck luck, it wasn’t meant to last. 

A distant shout reached them from the mansion, shattering the quietude of the evening. 

“Would you two just  _ kiss _ already!”

Donald whirled around in time to see all four of the kids duck way from one of the second story windows. 

Affronted and embarrassed, Donald shot to his feet so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. “ _ Kids _ !” He barked reproachfully, more of a prolonged quack than anything else, when he felt Fenton’s hand on his cheek. 

He immediately fell silent, looking back at Fenton with wide eyes. 

“I don’t mind if you don’t,” he said with a shrug and small smile, and Donald swallowed thickly. 

But he closed his eyes and leaned forward at the same time as Fenton, and the kiss was more than worth the mingled cries of disgust and whoops of joy it garnered from the kids. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter two should be up relatively soon, but in the meantime let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Also, if you were confused by who was who in the beginning:  
> Code names  
> H: Hot Tamale  
> D: Fortissimo  
> L: Green with Envy  
> W: Delta Chimera 
> 
> Donald: Wet Blanket  
> Fenton: Mr. Roboto


End file.
